I release the hold and step back, and I stand over him and making myself look, briefly.
A wolf who served this pack for four decades and then chose wrong, and kept choosing wrong until the last breath. There's a version of this where I understand how it happened, andI'll think about that later, in private, when the adrenaline has cleared and the pack is quiet and there's space to think.
Right now the shift pulls back all at once.
The change hits harder coming down than going up, my wolf's clarity receding and leaving behind every injury the wolf's system was managing without complaint. My left side registers first, deep and insistent, the rogue's old damage reopened during the fight and something new on top of it. My shoulder follows. My neck. The accumulation of two hours of combat lands on a human body that hasn't slept enough and bled more than it should have.
My legs shake and my knees buckle.
Then Cassidy is in the ring.
She comes through the boundary stones without hesitation, crossing the space between us at a pace just short of running, and gets her shoulder under my arm before I go down. Her grip is comforting, and my accelerated healing kicks in with the presence of my mate. She’s not a shifter, but the bond between us is real.
"I've got you," she says.
"I'm standing," I say.
"You were about to not be standing." She doesn't look up from managing my weight. "Don't argue with me right now."
I don't.
Ansel rushes into the ring, field kit already open, bandages and a salve in his hand. He crouches beside me without ceremony and pulls the kit to the injury on my left side, pressing clean cloth against it with practiced hands.
"How deep?" he asks.
"Manageable," I say.
"That's not a measurement," he says. "Hold still."
I hold still. Cassidy keeps her shoulder under my arm and doesn't move, and I feel the slight adjustment she makes whenAnsel's work shifts my balance, compensating without being asked. She's watching the clearing while I look straight ahead, and I can read the tension in her jaw from the angle without seeing her full expression.
"The neck wound needs closing before the shoulder," Ansel says, half to himself, pulling sutures out with quick hands. "The flank can wait ten minutes. You've got good pressure on it."
"The shoulder hurts more," I tell him.
"The neck wound is more urgent," he says flatly. "Pain is not a useful diagnostic tool."
Cassidy makes a small sound that under other circumstances would be a laugh. I look at her and she looks at me, and it doesn’t seem like either of us have anything left to say, and the moment holds everything the night has been.
"Good fight," she says, a light smile on her lips.
"Good dart," I say, returning the smile.
Brynn moves while Ansel works.
She doesn't wait for the clearing to settle before she starts directing, because Brynn has never waited for a room to settle when the room needed organizing. Her staff taps the stone twice, short and sharp, and the council members who were holding positions in the outer ring move inward.
"Gideon Rourke's loyalists will be detained for individual interview," she says, loud enough to carry. "Ciaran will identify and secure them. No one leaves the mansion grounds tonight without my authorization." Her eyes move across the crescent ring.
Several wolves exchange glances. Some drop their eyes. Three of Gideon's closer allies are already being flanked by enforcers before she's finished the sentence. "If your allegiance tonight was to Gideon rather than to pack law, you will have the opportunity to explain it. Cooperation will be weighed against consequence."
The wolves being flanked don't run. There’s no point now.
Ciaran works through the detainment efficiently, speaking quietly to each enforcer, pointing rather than gesturing broadly. Across the ring, a cluster of Gideon's remaining supporters stand together and look at each other with expressions ranging from angry to sheepish.
Then Kieran.
He's been standing behind the rest of the council with Ciaran's restraint on him and the partial sedative still working at the margins of his coordination. When the enforcer holding him releases the grip, he doesn't run either. He stands for a moment, steadies himself, and then drops to both knees in at my feet.
